


My Team Principal Totowolff

by babypapaya



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Camping, Multi, cuddle your brothas, hosting a seance, kiss yo homies, squad sleepover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-06-09 14:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19477558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babypapaya/pseuds/babypapaya
Summary: Enigmatic spirit the Totowolff only appears to young drivers in the first couple years of their careers, and despite bouts of pessimism and being prone to breaking furniture, his appearance is a rare blessing. To the particularly despondent George, it's a possible lifeline.





	1. Cuddle your Homies When your Campfire is Broken

**Author's Note:**

> a thought that got out of hand :')

George Russell was grumpy. It was a weekend between races and he was hanging out with his homies Alex Albon and Lando Norris, the only two people who knew he was grumpy. George trusted his homies _only_. He wasn’t grumpy because he was with them, he was just in a despondent mood regarding his seat for the season at Williams. He was happy to be racing, he just wanted to be a little bit faster. Fast enough that he could scroll through one instagram post about F1 and not see a “faster than a Williams! xD” in the comment section.

“Alex, Lando,” he announced. “I’m feeling a tad despondent.”

The lads were on a camping trip, their tent pitched in an idyllic little piece of countryside in the rolling hills, where the deliciously puffy clouds scurried across the brilliantly cerulean sky, the same cool breeze riffling through the sun-warmed grasses while the wildflowers surrounding swayed. They had attempted a campfire the night before, but Alex’s lumberjack lessons in Canada proved inadequate, and the lads had been a little chilly. But as they were all homies, they had no qualms getting close for a spot of cuddling, and the next day they were fine. But George was a tad despondent.

“Hmm,” Lando hmmmd, red Coca Cola water bottle in hand, sunglasses on, orange cap on, as he lay in the gorgeous early summer sunlight. “It’s about the team, isn’t it, mate.”

“Hmm,” Alex repeated. He also wore his sunglasses, and lay in the grass beside Lando. George was on his other side, also in sunglasses, lying in the grass and propped up on his elbows, gazing moodily into the nearby forest. He picked a dandelion and shredded it, the white fluffies carried by the breeze into the trees.

“I mean, it’s your first year,” Alex offered. “Everyone understands, right?” Alex smiled at his friend, a big warm Alex Albon smile that made him look like a quokka, the smile that everyone loved.

“It won’t be forever ever,” added Lando, enchanted by Alex’s quokka face and reaching for his Thai homie’s hand. They clasped hands and offered consoling and angelic smiles to George, who slightly grimaced and ran a hand through his model-y hair, still gazing into the trees.

“One race at a time, one day at a time,” Alex said sagely. He reached out his other homie hand to pet George’s model-y model hair, but George wasn’t paying attention.

Behind his sunglasses, George’s eyes narrowed, accentuating his world-record eyelashes. He gazed into the trees a little more intently, thinking he saw a figure flicker in the shadows. It was his turn to say hmmm, so he did. “Hmmm,” said George. He blinked, and his homies turned to look as well. Alex withdrew his hand from George’s hair and lowered his sunglasses, turning to squint into the trees. Lando followed suit, but still held his homie’s hand.

“You see that?” George asked in a low whisper. “There—gone now—there again!”

Alex and Lando thought they saw it, but weren’t sure. An ephemeral shape in white flickered in the shadow, so temporarily that they couldn’t be sure what it was. George scrambled to his feet and glanced at his friends. “Let’s go!”

Alex winced. “This is how white people die in horror movies,” he grumbled, but allowed Lando to pull him to his feet. For safety, he grabbed George’s hand as well and the British baby boy chain made tracks for the cool shadows of the trees.

The grasses parted around them, swishing around their feet and giving way to dry trails in the undergrowth of the trees. The boys clutched at each other when errant squirrels skittered past.

“I don’t know what we’re looking for,” hissed Lando, feeling as though it was better to stay hushed.

“Can’t exactly… describe it,” whispered George. “You saw it. You’ll know it when you see it again.” He crept forward, scanning the trees through the thin fingers of sunlight that filtered through the canopy. “Oh, shit.”

It shimmered before them, several metres away, secluded among a thicket. A white-clad apparition, difficult to fix one’s eyes on, but exuding an aura of incredible assurance. If asked to describe it, none of the British baby boys could have done it. It was simply a presence, an urge, a nagging feeling in the backs of their heads. None of them mentioned that, though, as George squeezed Alex’s hand a little tighter.

“It’s there, right?” Alex asked. Lando nodded.

The figure retreated into the shadows, the boys scrambling to keep up as they chased it across the uneven ground. It felt like several hours passed, the light getting dimmer. Was it almost evening? Across a winding stream, over fallen logs, past startled birds and—

“Fu-mwphwwwm,” said George, falling off a small cliff. His nosedive ended in an incredibly fluffy white pile of—stuff, muffling his exclamation. Alex and Lando, truly loyal and hot on his heels, also tumbled down the cliff, hand in hand, transforming the British baby boy chain into a British baby boy pile .

“Ouch?” asked Alex, extracting his head from between George’s ribs and Lando’s leg. “Actually, not ouch. That was soft.” Quokka smile returned.

“Kiss your homies and cuddle your brothas,” Lando chirped.

“I’m no longer a tad despondent,” George announced. “I’m incredibly concerned that we have made contact with the Thing.”

“Is there damage?” Lando demanded.

“The thing is wearing a team shirt and we have fallen into its lair,” George said, maneuvering himself for a better view of their situation. They had fallen into the lap of the ephemeral being, who was now very solid, comfortably lounged in a nook at the base of the shallow cliff, surrounded by what looked to be broken furniture. Specifically, a large collection of tables.

The Thing, on closer examination, appeared as an astoundingly round figure covered in dark brown fluff, and the whiteness previously seen had been a Mercedes team shirt. It was huge, large enough to cushion their fall, now large enough to peer at them in a manner that should have been menacing, but wasn’t quite.

“Hello, sir,” attempted Alex. “I—uh, love your shirt!”

“Lewis fans freaking everywhere,” Lando whispered to George.

The figure beamed an exceptionally wide grin at the boys, but refused to speak, only reaching an arm-like limb toward George to pat him on the cheek. After fishing in a pile of splintered tabletops, he extracted a small sticker, which he pressed to the Williams’ driver’s shirt. Then with great care, he gathered the three into a British baby boy bundle in his arms, and with one great bounding leap, jumped up the cliffside, landing lightly as a feather at the top. He dropped the three and slipped back down the ledge, trailed by a few skittering stones and rustling leaves.

George, Alex, and Lando peered over the edge. Though it was quite dark now, they could still tell that anything they _had_ seen had now vanished. No forest fluff in a white shirt peered back at them, nor could they spot even one crooked table leg.

“I’m… mildly concerned,” George amended. He offered no further explanation.

Lando emit a loud huffing sigh. “Damn, what do I need to do to get a sticker?”

Plucking at the front of George’s shirt, Alex angled the sticker to catch the dying light, the three-pointed star of the Mercedes logo shining back at him. “The forest fluff has spoken,” he declared. “You’ve been blessed.”

George stared down at his shirt, silent for a long moment, before proposing they return before it was full night. He strode ahead, keeping to the largest paths, as Lando and Alex trailed behind, hand in hand, and in less than five minutes the path pushed them out directly where they entered the forest, hours earlier.

Lando opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, and said, “You know what? I’m not even going to ask any more questions today.” Their campsite was not untouched. Though the dark sky shrouded them all, a small campfire was lit where they’d failed the night before, and tiny sparks trailed in the smoke, up to the stars.

“We’re going to need… bigger help,” Lando suggested.

“There’s only one man to ask,” George added, nodding.

“A friend to the wilds and the forest,” Alex said. “The wisest man of all.”

* * *

So, the next race weekend, the three homies scanned the paddock for the one man they all sought, the one man who might give them an answer. They found him in his garage.

“You met Totowolff,” said Kimi, looking at none of them in particular. Or maybe he was. They couldn’t see past the shades. “Go ask Valtteri.”


	2. Put your Pinkie Fingers in your Homie’s Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as far as I know, Alex is a practicing Buddhist, which is slightly relevant to this

“Go ask Valtteri,” Kimi had said. So the British baby boys went to ask Valtteri, but they ran into Lewis on the way.

“Hello, Lewis,” Alex said, as the three young ones entered the Mercedes motorhome. “Can Valtteri come out to talk?”

“Hey, what’s up, boys?” Lewis asked, casually slapping hands with Alex and attempting a simultaneous fistbump with Lando and George, which failed because the two were holding hands. 

“Kimi sent us,” Lando explained. “We saw—” his voice dropped— “Totowolff last week. And Kimi only said Valtteri knew.”

A bright grin stretched across Lewis’ face upon hearing the name. “Totowolff! Don’t you kids know better by your age?”

“What do you mean?” asked George, stepping forward. He felt vaguely threatened, and his brow furrowed. But he knew that was silly—there was surely nothing wrong. He blinked away his frown, world-record eyelashes fluttering, and felt Lando’s hand slip out of his own only to link their pinky fingers together instead. George appreciated the McLaren driver’s professionalism. 

Lewis waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Myth, legend, old wives tale—maybe nursery rhyme?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never believed in Totowolff.” 

The three boys looked at each other, and George gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Lando nodded, and said, “Well, nursery rhyme or not, we had an… encounter. We think. Apparently Valtteri was going to tell us more.”

“Well, you know boys—” Lewis thumped his chest with a fist and pointed one finger to the sky— “there’s only one thing you know you can believe in. Don’t let something that’s not real throw off your vibe or kill your energy. With all due respect to your own faith,” he nodded at Alex.

“Ah… thank you?” the Thai replied. “We’ll, uhh, go find Valtteri now.”

“And stay hydrated! Can’t have the lot of you hallucinating.”

The British baby boys yeeted, avoiding further blessing, and smiled their way all the way through the Mercedes motorhome to a door that said _77_ on it. George knocked and stepped back. The bearded Finn cracked open the door and peeked out at the three, and asked, “What can I do for you?”

George subtly pushed Alex forward, the most non-threatening one of them all, and the Toro Rosso driver put on his certified quokka smile, the one everyone loved. Valtteri opened the door further.

“We just have some questions,” Alex said politely. The Finn slowly backed away from his doorway. “About Totowolff,” Alex added. Valtteri moved to close the door again. “Because Kimi told us to ask you.”

The door swung wide open. “Kimi sent you? Come in.”

The three crowded into the room, fixed under Valtteri’s intense but quiet gaze. He gestured at the small couch and took his own seat on a chair facing the young ones. George and Alex sat down, Lando draping himself across their laps. 

“You said Totowolff,” Valtteri said, unblinking.

“Yes, this last week. We all saw him, but George saw him first,” Alex explained.

Valtteri was silent for a long moment. “I—I did not know he was still around. I had hopes, but—it changes much to know he is still out there.”

“Lewis said Totowolff wasn’t real. And truly, we don’t even know what it is. This is all brand new to us,” Lando clarified.

Valtteri leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he pondered what to tell the boys, or more importantly, where to start. He rubbed his chin. “Lewis knows many things but this is not one of them. Kimi was right. Maybe there is someone who knows more about Totowolff than I, but I don’t know who. I will tell you what I know.”

He steepled his fingers and took a breath, the three boys looking on, afraid to break the silence lest Val decide to cast them out. Kimi’s name may have gotten them through the door, but they were unprepared to barter further for the information they sought. 

“When I was at Williams, it was… a big change for me. Clearly I had always wanted to drive in F1, but the change was a little harder than I thought. Many days I took off, I would go alone and leave the cities to… to ground myself, to keep up for the weekends. Totowolff would often visit me in the forest. It was not, hmm, not to the point where I sought him out. He never spoke to me.”

“He met us in the forest,” George said, absentmindedly running his hands through Lando’s hair, fluffing up the dark brown curls. “We were just doing a little camping trip for the lads and we chased him into the forest on… I think it was our second day. At first only I saw this shape in the shadows.”

“We followed him for ages and ended up falling down a cliff, into some sort of den of his,” Lando complained. “He gave George a Mercedes sticker and returned us to our site, and he might have lit our campfire, too.”

“Hmm,” mused Valtteri. “I forgot he did that. Totowolff—he can be hard to predict. He will go ahead and surprise you, hm, but it is never in a bad way.” He looked George straight in the eye, with an unreadable—as usual—expression. “He is a spirit of good luck, he usually appears in the forest but on occasion in other settings. Totowolff was there always when I needed him.” 

“What sorts of things would he do?” Alex asked.

Valtteri shrugged, pursed his lips, and waited a moment before replying. “He is not dangerous. He is just… a surprise.” 

George frowned. “But you don’t see him anymore?” 

Another shrug. “After signing to Mercedes, no. Totowolff is a mystery. If you see him you are blessed, and remember it. It will not happen forever.”

“Not like, Lewis kind of blessed?” Lando asked cautiously.

“No, not Lewis kind of blessed.” Valtteri stood up. “I know no more.”

“Wait!” George scrambled up, unceremoniously pushing Lando into Alex’s arms. They both looked delighted at this change in position, and Alex tugged the shorter driver closer on his lap and rested his chin in Lando’s hair. “Is that all you’re going to tell us?” George demanded, looking down at Valtteri. George shrunk back a little, afraid he’d come across as aggressive. But Valtteri just stepped forward, reaching up to place his hands on the rookie’s shoulders. They stared at each other for a moment, George wondering if he was supposed to say anything. 

“Trust Totowolff, George. He is there when you need him. There is nothing more I can say.” Valtteri pulled George into a loose hug, slapped him on the back, and waved the three boys out the door.

* * *

Alex, George, and Lando were shook. None of them knew exactly what they had been expecting to hear from the Mercedes driver, but all of them were a little unsure how to handle the new information, scarce as it was. So far, it felt like the spirit had a special affinity for George, which had somewhat been corroborated by Valtteri’s story, as a driver with the career path George was expected to match. Alex, ever helpful, could never have let his dearest friend embark on an adventure alone, and so far had stuck close by to help George. He would have his George’s back or die on the spot. As for Lando, he was just along for the ride. You don’t let your homies have an incident without you, obviously, and he’d just been ready to step in whenever he was needed. And right now, Lando thought he saw his time. 

He slipped his phone from his pocket and opened the homie group chat. The boys had scattered to their garages after leaving the Mercedes motorhome, and Lando needed to make plans.

brit bb bois 

my plaec after the weeknd monday night brng sleepn bags :LN4

GR63: ???

got snacks n gonnado a lil stream :LN4

AA23: Are you planning a sleepover stream? I’ll check my calendar.

GR63: you’re coming alex

GR63: we all need to talk

GR63: about totowolff 

exactly!! :LN4

work to do lads :LN4

alex pls bring candels n/or insense :LN4

AA23: Wouldn’t it be more effective to go for another camping trip 

to research Totowolff?

AA23: ...What do you need them for?

when u cant go 2 totwolf hell come 2 u <3 :LN4

also bring ur helmets :LN4

geogre bring ursticker :LN4

GR63: what for?

its seanse time brotha! :LN4

AA23: no! it’s not!

GR63: I’ll be there

Lando slid his phone back into his pocket and smiled to himself. George was going to be there, so Alex would come around. If he streamed it, he’d be online at an odd hour, but he was willing to bet his view count would not suffer at all.

* * *

The plans all came together and sure enough, on Monday night, George and Alex pulled up to Lando’s place. Laden with their sleeping bags, pillows, pyjamas, and each toting a helmet, they knocked on the door and were dragged inside to the living room. Lando dropped their gear among the various sim setups and turned to his own computer, which was apparently already streaming to Twitch. 

George greeted the camera, Alex looking slightly too uneasy to say anything. George noticed his friend’s discomfort and grabbed his hand. “Lando? A moment, more stuff in the car.” Alex was tugged gently out the door, ostensibly to grab another bag that didn’t exist. As they reached George’s car, he stopped and pulled Alex into a soft hug. 

“I know you’re not too keen on this, Al, but it means everything to have you along for whatever this ride is,” George said softly. “We’re just trying to figure out what all of this means.”

Alex propped his chin on George’s shoulder and sighed. “You know I wouldn’t let you feel despondent without me.” They pulled apart, still gripping each other’s hands while Alex returned George’s wide smile with a crooked grin. “Lando is just a little silly sometimes.”

“He’s only a baby,” George assured him, “but he does have good ideas. We’ll see what happens tonight.”

Alex grimaced. “I hate that I love you two so much. I don’t… I don’t really like this but I understand.” He face softened into the smile George was much more familiar with. “I’m not upset with Lando at all,” he said. “Just…”

“...a little…” continued George.

“...scared!” finished Alex. “How can we summon a spirit? I’ve never even used a ouija board. That,” he announced, “is a gateway to dying in horror movies.”

“If we get cursed, we all get cursed together,” George reassured him, with a hand squeeze. “Besides…”

* * *

“...I’m streaming this, so we’ll have witnesses,” Lando concluded, looking extremely satisfied with his set-up. He’d dragged the furniture around and set up his webcam to focus on the cleared centre of his living room, around which were arranged Alex and George’s sleeping bags on air mattresses. His own blankets and pillows were piled onto the couch, which his two friends had piled on top of, occasionally making faces at the webcam to the delight of the assembled stream viewers. 

“I’ll get out the candles,” Alex said, hopping up to grab his weekender bag and dig through it, producing a handful of cedar scented tapers and a bag of lavender tealights. 

George wrinkled his nose. “I thought the spirits would be more into unscented candles,” he said, “will anyone show up for lavender?” Lando giggled, having deposited himself on the couch in Alex’s spot, cuddling up against George and grabbing his tall friend’s arm to wrap around himself. George softly patted Lando’s cheek, fingertips tracing his jawline. The stream chat went wild, and the moment went on to be giffed and posted on tumblr for all eternity. 

“I checked all the cupboards and my mum only let me take these,” Alex said apologetically. He piled them on the floor and Lando joined him, unpacking the boys’ helmets. 

Plucking the Mercedes sticker from George’s offering hand, Lando carefully placed it in the middle of the cleared floorspace. The three-pointed star almost twinkled in the RGB-lit room, but George blinked, and the effect disappeared. Following invisible lines trailing out from the star’s points, Lando arranged the helmets all an equal distance from the sticker, creating an imaginary circle about one metre in diameter, its circumference punctuated into thirds by the helmets. 

“I looked up seances on wikiHow,” George announced, consulting the notes he’d taken on his phone, “and it said we’re supposed to start around midnight for the best spiritual energy.”

“It’s not late enough yet,” Lando decided. “Let’s just get in our jammies and get something to eat until then.” He waved at the webcam and suggested his viewers drop into James Pull’s stream for a moment, and skipped off to don his sleeping onesie—bright blue, with a splash of orange geometry across the legs. The hood pulled up over his head, neon safety yellow with a webbing of royal blue and a white crown. Did Lando Norris find a designer on Etsy and commission pyjamas to match his race suit and helmet? Yes. Why? We don’t know yet.

He wandered out to the kitchen, pouring three glasses of milk and carrying them out to his friends, who had stripped down into sleepwear. “I like your shorts,” Lando told them, “they look comfy and easy to wear.” He wedged himself between the two homies on the couch and they all sipped their chilled white, talking quietly. George compulsively and nervously checked the time on his phone, Alex eventually plucking the device from his hand and dropping it behind the sofa, where its thump onto the carpet punctuated an uneasy moment of silence.

“We should just do it now to get it over with if you’re worried,” Alex offered.

“No! It’s too early and it might not work; are you trying to make sure nothing happens?”

“I have the most spiritual energy of everyone here,” Alex asserted. “Why would I want that?”

“I feel like Lewis is the only person I know with more spiritual energy than you,” Lando said, pensively. The three boys simultaneously paled at the thought of Lewis’ reaction if he ever found out they conducted a seance.

“Lewis is _never_ finding out about this,” George said, glowering. The other two nodded vigorously and Lando jumped up, skipping over to his computer setup, changing his stream title from “Conducting a Seance with the Boys” to “Drinking Milk with the Boys,” and whispering to his 2,864 viewers to keep it lowkey. He jumped back on the sofa, wedging himself between his homies and slinging an arm around each of them.

“There’s nothing to worry about, I’ve got everything under control,” he assured them, reaching up to pat each of their heads. “I’m even wearing my lucky pyjamas. Besides, Valtteri said Totowolff is nothing to worry about; worst case is that nothing happens, right?”

Alex and George sighed, Lando snuggling further into the couch cushions and suddenly dozing off.

“See? He’s baby,” George whispered to Alex, who laughed softly.

“We’ll wake him up at midnight,” Alex replied. 

The clock hands swept around until both arrows pointed to 12, and Alex moved to gently shake Lando awake. His eyes snapped open and he jumped up. 

“It’s—” a yawn interrupted him—“time!” Lando ran over to the computer to check on the stream. “Don’t leave now,” he whispered into the mic, “just keep it classy. Respectful.”

The boys huddled over their circle, arranging the candles around the sticker on the floor. Lando produced matches from a kitchen drawer and ran back in. “Can you light these?” He palmed the box to George, who swiftly lit the dozen and a half lavender and cedar candles nestled very unsafely on the carpet. The matchbox was tossed aside as the boys settled, crosslegged, between the helmets placed around the circle, and clasped each others’ hands. 

“Cuddle your brothas and have holy homie hand holding,” Lando whispered. George choked back a situationally unholy laugh that came out as an unflattering snort.

“We have to close our eyes now, I think,” he suggested. He and Alex squeezed their eyes shut, Lando keeping one cracked open to watch the computer screen. “Shut, Lando.” The streamer winked at the webcam and closed both his eyes this time. 

A silence held for a moment as none of them knew what was supposed to happen. “Pray or something, Alex!” George hissed.

Alex blanched, his eyes still shut. “Why me?”

“You’ve got the most spiritual energy to open the seance!”

“I don’t even know who to pray to!”

“I don’t either, just pick something good,” George urged. 

Lando squeezed both their hands tighter. “Something that won’t curse us,” he added.

“Uhh, okay. Hmm. Dear Niki Lauda—”

“Damn,” Lando hissed. “That’s a good choice.”

“Quiet, Lando!”

“Dear Niki Lauda,” Alex repeated, “uhhh, hi! I hope you’re enjoying the spirit world, but we miss you and we feel like you’re close enough that we can still consult you for official Mercedes business. Thank you for the blessing that you’ve been to everyone and for the blessing that your memory continues to be. Tonight we need guidance for George and safety for all of us as we seek Totowolff. Thank you.”

“...amen?” George added tentatively.

“Amen, I guess,” said Lando. They fell silent again. George was gripping Alex’s hand so tightly he could feel the pulse in his fingertips. “Do I still keep my eyes shut?” Lando cracked an eye open. 

“I don’t think so,” Alex whispered, also opening his. 

“Now we try to talk to the spirits,” George decided. “wikiHow said we can ask questions but they have to have yes or no answers so they’re easy to reply to.”

“You ask first, though.”

“Okay.” George took a deep breath. “If you’re listening, spirits, give us a sign.”

Silence reigned for a moment as the British baby boys strained for any signal, any breeze in the room, any candle flicker.

Lando broke the silence with a gasp. “My nose itches.”

“Maybe ask some easy test questions,” Alex whispered. “Spirits, will… will Max be a champion someday?”

A breeze seemed to flutter through the room, a few candle flames dancing. 

“My bedroom window is open,” Lando suddenly remembered.

Alex looked at him helplessly. “Spirits, if Totowolff is with you, blow out the lavender candles.”

George’s eyelashes fluttered as his eyes shut, not sure what he hoped would happen. His blood pulsed in his ears, growing to an unbearable volume. Lando threaded his fingers between George’s, clasping their hands even tighter, a cold sweat on his palms. He desperately wanted to open his eyes but his senses were already so overwhelmed—stuck in a threatening paralysis. Suddenly the scent of pine and lavender was making him sick, and his next breath was a gasp. His eyes flashed open, and his blurry vision clarified to focus on the candles. They were all still lit.

“Spirits,” Lando quavered, still hushed, “if Totowolff is _not_ with you, blow out the pine candles.” Six eyes focused unblinkingly on the candles, none of which even flickered. 

“Will we see Totowolff again?” George asked, voice barely audible. A quiet moment, a clock ticking in the kitchen, the RGB strip light glow oozing over the walls.

Lando cleared his throat. “My… my nose itches again,” he whispered.

George’s sigh stretched into a groan. “This probably isn’t even working. Do we consult Niki again?”

Alex tilted his head. “Maybe he wants to be left alone?”

“Niki,” George intoned, “if you’re hearing us tonight, make Lando’s ear itch too, please.” He and Alex turned to Lando, eyes fixed intently on his face. He wrinkled his nose.

“Maybe another camping trip might have been better,” Lando suggested, his tone apologetic. “Still just my nose.”

George shrugged, leaning forward to blow out a few candles. “That’s okay. We’ve tried, right? We’ve got the sleeping bags here and we can camp right here for tonight.”

Alex let go of their hands, flexing his fingers to relieve the ache induced by Lando’s protective grip. “I’m sorry we didn’t hear anything,” he said, almost sounding guilty. 

“I wonder why it didn’t work,” Lando mused, hopping to his feet to check on the stream. The chat was overflowing with questionable advice and suggestions. 

George considered his friends for a moment. “It wasn’t Al, he has the most spiritual energy.”

“Maybe I didn’t believe hard enough,” Lando suggested. “I really thought I did? But—”

“—you’ve never been the most introspective,” Alex said ruefully, completing the sentence. He smiled a little, tidying the extinguished candles as George rebagged the helmets. “That’s okay, if you think you did then you believed enough. Maybe Totowolff is busy.”

The seance evidence was cleared away as Lando signed off on his stream, and arranged the sleeping bags on the floor for his friends. Inspiration suddenly struck, and he tossed his own blankets off the couch onto the floor, wedging his pillow between the other two. The three British baby boys tucked themselves into bed, Alex draping Lando in blankets as George fluffed his pillow. They were all a little emotional, their hopes to learn more about Totowolff having been dashed, at least for the night. 

Lando had powered down his setup, and the room was lit only by the glow of the LED strips. The boys stared melancholically at the ceiling as the rainbow glow twisted around the room. George sighed, and Lando instinctively cuddled into him. “He’ll come back, brotha. You’ll see him again.”

Alex reached across Lando, clasping hands with George. “There’s always another day, Georgie. We’ll figure it out.” 

* * *

The next morning’s sun filtered through the windows and found the British baby boys sharing one blanket and half a mattress, mostly stretched out on the carpet. George awoke first, extracting himself groggily from Lando’s ever-clingy arms and gently shifting Alex’s head off of his arm. He stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing a glass for some water. He turned, catching sight of the table. It was slightly buckled, splinters running down the length of it where the wood had been crushed. A leg was missing. 

  
George stepped back, his mouth dropping open a little. _“Oh.”_


End file.
